


Daisy

by BleuWaters



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, I love the name 'jesse', all of the fluff, i love jesse, i'd've thunk someone a bit less, ohwell, unrefined, why does a rough and tumble cowhand get this quality of fluff, would get that honor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 06:32:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11526540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleuWaters/pseuds/BleuWaters
Summary: Jesse McCree x reader. Just seven hundred and fifty one words of fluff that makes me wanna pile up in a blanket and giggle.But srsly, this is the short tale of how you met this crazy cowboy and the behavior he displays for you.





	Daisy

You met him, of all places, at a carnival. Curious glances had been exchanged between the two of you several times as he pointedly strolled past until, finally, he stepped into your face painting line, towering above toddlers wanting butterflies or spiders to dance across their faces. He looked ridiculously out of place, a bear of a man wearing a red serape and spurs on his boots. A tired old hat sat upon a nest of unkempt brown hair, and his short, but altogether tameless beard seemed to be worn with pride.

You asked what he wanted with a big smile on your face. He returned it and told you to surprise him, so you painted a daisy on his cheek, above the spray of wiry chestnut hair lining his jaw. He laughed heartily at that, thanked you, and left, tossing a wink and a tip of his hat over his shoulder.

An hour later, he returned, the daisy horribly smudged.

“Wonderin’ if you'd fix her up a bit,” he confessed, sinking into the chair made for a person a tenth his size. You wiped the original away with a soft cloth and repainted it, resting your pinky against his cheekbone to steady your hand. It was finished swiftly, and he thanked you again before disappearing into the crowd.

That evening, as you had packed up your tools and paints, you discovered a small note containing nothing but a number and a name, both belonging to a certain cowboy.

All this was months ago, and through the passage of time, you've gotten to know Jesse McCree. He's a charming, sweet man, quite a few years older than you. The gap doesn't matter at all, though, and with his gentlemanly ways, you feel like a princess in his company.

It was a gentle lead up from a lengthy mutual affection, but when he actually told you that he would very much like to court you, you flushed a deep scarlet and told him, albeit spluttering gracelessly, that you would very much like that, too.

Having the relationship named and official put a warm fizz in your stomach, and every time you smile at him, or he, at you, you feel your pulse leap. And honestly, if you ever questioned his manners, you know you won't ever again. He treats you like porcelain but better. Helping you off the hypertrain, he had his hand ready to steady you if need be, but he didn't touch you out of respect. He uses the sweetest endearments, and asks permission before kissing your hand good-night.

Tonight, with a bright, full moon, a stomach contented by good food and better company, and the mood strictly romantic, you hesitate before stepping inside your home.

“I enjoy the formality you show me,” you say softly, “I cherish it. I've never felt so valued!”

Jesse smiles and rubs the back of his neck, surprisingly bashful about your expression.

“But Jesse?”

“Yeah, doll?”

“This is a relationship,” you murmur, “Not servitude.”

“Now, see, bluebell, I think there's not much wiggle room concernin’ that,” Jesse says, “Love...is sacrifice, and sacrifice is servitude. There's plenty of care between us; it’d be a shame if that changed.”

“I agree, of course!” you say quickly, “Of course. But...just now and then...a girl would like a proper kiss. One she doesn't have to ask for.”

Jesse looks up, a confused sort of look ln his face, a mix of surprise and pleasure. When he smiles, however, it's all confidence.

“I'll be keepin’ that in mind, darlin’,” he replies. He takes your face in his hands, presses a feather-light kiss to your forehead, and says goodnight.

Three months later, after forgetting about your conversation entirely, Jesse grasps your chin with his thumb and index finger, and places a sweet kiss to your lips, a brief, chaste kiss that burns the sensation into your memory. He smiles fondly at you, oblivious to the glances of passersby, and slides his arm around your shoulders, the metal weight heavy but welcomed.

It was the year anniversary of your meeting, and the two of you stood on the very spot you'd first laid eyes on each other.

You don't know how he did it, but he did, and the gesture pulls tears to your eyes.

Sitting proudly in a small tuft of grass is a single daisy, with snow white petals and a striking gold center, nothing less than a flawless original of the reproductions that united you.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you make it to the end? Im honestly ready to squeal; I ship it. Please leave comments and kudos if you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading my work!


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